Pictures I like

Started by oyasumi, April 14, 2007, 07:56:37 PM

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Lethevich



MFW I thought the back left guy had a sheep's face.
Peanut butter, flour and sugar do not make cookies. They make FIRE.

kishnevi

Quote from: Lethe Dmitriyevich Shostakovich on July 05, 2011, 10:12:52 AM


MFW I thought the back left guy had a sheep's face.

I especially like how the kid seems to have fallen asleep.  Must have been a very long grace.



Drasko

What is that last one, Peter? Some pre-raphaelite allegory?

To keep with the theme






Lethevich

Peanut butter, flour and sugar do not make cookies. They make FIRE.

pjme

#1407


Hi Drasko,

i wasn'able to figure out who made that etching/drawing. Definitely late 19th century and possibly by one of the Pre Raphaelites.

The glossy photographs of actors and celebrities ...made me think of Vanitas paintings...the brittleness of Life.

Here's a fragment of François Villon's  "La ballade des pendus" ....

Frères humains qui après nous vivez
N'ayez les coeurs contre nous endurcis,
Car, se pitié de nous pauvres avez,
Dieu en aura plus tost de vous merciz.
Vous nous voyez cy attachez cinq, six
Quant de la chair, que trop avons nourrie,
Elle est pieça devoree et pourrie,
Et nous les os, devenons cendre et pouldre.
De nostre mal personne ne s'en rie :
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre!

My brothers who live after us,
Don't harden you hearts against us too,

If you have mercy now on us,

God may have mercy upon you.

Five, six, you see us, hung out to view.

When the flesh that nourished us well

Is eaten piecemeal, ah, see it swell,

And we, the bones, are dust and gall,

Let no one make fun of our ill,

But pray that God absolves us all.



And


Many a man I then refused –

Which wasn't wise of me, no jest –

For love of a boy, cunning too,

To whom I gave all my largesse.

I feigned to him unwillingness,

But, by my soul, I loved him bad.

What he showed was his roughness,

Loving me only for what I had.



He could drag me through the dirt,

Trample me underfoot, I'd love him,

Break my back, whatever's worse,

If only he'd ask for a kiss again,

I'd soon forget then every pain.

A glutton, full of what he could win,

He'd embrace me – with him I've lain.

What's he left me? Shame and sin.

 

Now he's dead, these thirty years:

And I live on, old, and grey.

When I think of those times, with tears,

What I was, what I am today,

View myself naked: turn at bay,

Seeing what I am no longer,

Poor, dry, meagre, worn away,

I almost forget myself in anger.



Where's my smooth brow gone:

My arching lashes, yellow hair,

Wide-eyed glances, pretty ones,

That took in the cleverest there:

Nose not too big or small: a pair

Of delicate little ears, the chin

Dimpled: a face oval and fair,

Lovely lips with crimson skin?



The fine slender shoulder-blades:

The long arms, with tapering hands:

My small breasts: the hips well made

Full and firm, and sweetly planned,

All Love's tournaments to withstand:

The broad flanks: the nest of hair,

With plump thighs firmly spanned,

Inside its little garden there?



Now wrinkled forehead, hair gone grey:

Sparse eyelashes: eyes so dim,

That laughed and flashed once every way,

And reeled their roaming victims in:

Nose bent from beauty, ears thin,

Hanging down like moss, a face,

Pallid, dead and bleak, the chin

Furrowed, a skinny-lipped disgrace.



This is the end of human beauty:

Shrivelled arms, hands warped like feet:

The shoulders hunched up utterly:

Breasts....what? In full retreat,

Same with the hips, as with the teats:

Little nest, hah! See the thighs,

Not thighs, thighbones, poor man's meat,

Blotched like sausages, and dried.

From: Le Testament: Les Regrets De La Belle Heaulmière

There's beauty in death and decay...

P.

Lethevich

Quote from: pjme on July 10, 2011, 10:36:13 AM


After it bugging me for a day, this one might be Sandys - it doesn't remind me of Rossetti, and he is the only other one I can think of who engraved extensively:

Peanut butter, flour and sugar do not make cookies. They make FIRE.


Lethevich

I saw my first ever "guy in a ridiculous costume outside a store" last week. I was on a bus at the time, and so unfamiliar were the passengers at the sight that we all immediately let out an instinctive "holler" at the guy in question, who in turn waved back.
Peanut butter, flour and sugar do not make cookies. They make FIRE.

pjme

Thanks Drasko,
this is what I found

Until Her Death'
Dinah Maria Mulock, afterwards Craik, 'Until Her Death' Good Words 3, 5 (May 1862)
Illustration by Frederick Sandys. Engraving by Dalziel Brothers
Size: 4" x 5"

And I must not forget our own James Ensor



Peter

pjme

And this is a very nice one :



Nouveau receuil d'ostéologie et de myologie by Jacques Gamelin (1738-1803)




And Paul Delvaux.

Lethevich

Peanut butter, flour and sugar do not make cookies. They make FIRE.

kishnevi

The Dance of Death is actually a late medieval/early Renaissance meme, especially in Northern and Central Europe.


are all from a series by Hans Holbein.  You can find the full series here:
http://www.godecookery.com/macabre/holdod/holdod.htm
with further links to Holbein's Alphabet of Death (Initial letters artistically engraved ) and various medieval horribeness.

Wanderer


Florestan

Quote from: Wanderer on July 11, 2011, 08:54:37 PM
They must be relatives.

Well, the first might be taken as a typo, but the second... LOL.
Every kind of music is good, except the boring kind. — Rossini

ibanezmonster


Lethevich

Hey, lay off his memories or I will set my gigglebytes on you!
Peanut butter, flour and sugar do not make cookies. They make FIRE.

Mirror Image

Bohuslav Martinu:



James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson approve this picture. :D